The Middle of Somewhere(18)

He shook his head. “I’m taking a break from making a mess of things.”

“What a coincidence. So am I.” She winced, embarrassed to have revealed herself. His candor had caught her off guard. Maybe this was how actors were: open about their inner worlds, and perceptive about those of others. Or maybe it was Brensen’s beer talking.

The waitress brought her food. A hiker came over to their table and recited several roles Brensen had been in, as if he were delivering news. When he finally left, Brensen said, “For what it’s worth, we’re each the common denominator in our own lives. It always seems as if it’s us.”

And sometimes it really is. But she nodded in agreement to stop the discussion. She was too tired to talk about failed relationships. She concentrated on her burger, which she knew was mediocre but nevertheless tasted like heaven.

Later, at the campsite, Liz turned her attention to the bucket.

She sliced through the layers of packing tape Dante had applied around the rim, broke the seal on the lid and transferred the contents to the picnic table. Oatmeal, hard salami, cheese, energy bars, granola, muesli (which made her miss her cat), dry milk, a half dozen dinners, Starburst (her obsession), M&M’s (Dante’s), more sunscreen, toothpaste and biodegradable soap. Twice as much as she needed, much of it packaged in two-serving bags. It would take a while to sort it out.

The bottom layer of the bucket consisted of several bags of trail mix. Under them she spied something blue. She lifted the bags aside and pulled out an envelope with her name on it in Dante’s slanted handwriting. She slit it open with her knife.


Mi carina,

We made it to Red’s Meadow! Congratulations to you (and me)! I’ve never walked 56 miles. Well, perhaps over the course of my life, but never so quickly.

I wanted to tell you how much it means to me that you’ve let me accompany you on your trip. It is your trip, the same way it is your life. I want to share both with you. As you know, I’m not a big fan of adventure (except in films) but I hope to learn why you want to do this crazy trip.

We haven’t been so close recently. I can’t understand why, because I love you the same. Maybe by now we are better.

Happy trails to us!

Dante

P.S. I must be nearby, so kiss me and tell me you’re glad I’m there.

Liz folded one leg underneath her and sat on the bench. She pictured Dante writing the note at the kitchen table in their condo, cautiously optimistic that his actions and determination would right their ship. His brow would have been furrowed in concentration and with worry, but he would not have doubted he was doing the right thing, both for him and for her. Confidence was one thing he’d never been short of.

They’d met at work. She’d been on her way to the mail room to retrieve a set of circuits she’d ordered when Dante had come flying around a corner. She’d had to jump aside to avoid a collision.

“Sorry!” He stopped and considered her. His forehead was beaded with sweat. “Any chance you’re in IT?”

She shook her head. “R & D. What’s wrong?”

“I’ve got a big presentation in five minutes and the projector’s on the brink.”

“You mean ‘on the blink’? It’s not talking to your laptop?”

“Yes! Can you fix it?”

She followed him to the conference room. A few dozen keystrokes later, the opening slide of his presentation appeared on the screen, with his name and title in the lower corner.

Liz stood. “There you are, Dante Espinoza.”

“Fantastic!” He smiled broadly and stepped closer. His eyes were the darkest chocolate brown she’d ever seen. “I could kiss you!”

She shoved her hands in her pockets.

He backed up. “Oh, I shouldn’t have said that. That’s workplace harassment.”

“It’s fine. I mean, what you said is fine. I knew what you meant and it was okay. Maybe not that way, but I didn’t take it that way.” She felt blood rush to her cheeks. If only he would stop smiling at her.

“You have an unfair advantage.”

“I do?”

“Yes. You know my name.”

“Oh.” She stared at him dumbly, her brain operating with an abacus instead of neurons. “I’m Liz.”

“You saved my life, Liz. Thank you.”

“It was simple.”

He laughed, an easy sound. “Only for you.” He gestured at the people filing into the room. “Time for my performance. I don’t suppose you’d allow me to thank you more properly after work. Perhaps a drink?”